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It wasn’t until dark that I realized one of the tables never needed to be bussed. And that’s because a single man had taken up residence in that four-person booth, pretty much for the entire afternoon.
Elijah!
Normally the sight of my ex would’ve struck a chord of fear in my heart. Right now though, he looked very small and very pathetic despite his size and athleticism. Plus, I was tired, I was angry, and that combination was very powerful. My anger was always one thing Elijah Storm had never really learned to deal with.
At the moment, Elijah was looking right at me. His rich boy haircut was in full effect; at the perfect apex between being freshly cut and needing to be cut again. And of course his smile was plastic, just like always.
Fuck this.
I stormed over, already furious. It made me even more angry to think that once upon a time I’d fallen for that stupid smile.
“Elijah, what in the hell do you—”
My biggest mistake of an ex-boyfriend got up mid-sentence, wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and left. It was easy for him to slip out through the crowd, especially as a group of four slipped into the booth he’d just vacated. They even picked up the stuff he left behind.
Damn.
A big part of me was glad he was gone. There’d been no confrontation, no words, no anything that could ruin our opening night celebration.
On the other hand, I felt cheated. Not only was he still in town — and therefore still messing with my head — but the restlessness and resentment I’d built up over the past week needed an outlet. I could’ve had that outlet, exploding on him in front of half the town. But he’d slipped away, like the slimy snake that he was.
“Hey…”
I whirled to find Christopher standing there, towel in hand. He began wiping down Elijah’s table as the customers who’d taken over the space nodded gratefully.
“You alright, Jenna? You look like you just stepped on a piece of glass.”
“No… no, I’m fine.”
The teenager grinned. “Good. Because if you do step on glass, my uncle’s gonna take it out on me. I dropped a tray earlier, and—”
“Did you happen to see the guy who was sitting here?”
Christopher continued working, his hands moving busily without missing a beat. “Tall and dark, with a million-dollar smile? Yeah, I saw him. He milked a pepperoni slice and refilled his cup four times. I kept waiting for him to leave.”
“So he was eating?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“What else was he doing?”
“Taking photos of the place actually,” Christopher offered. “And writing stuff down.”
Writing stuff down…
A chill ran through me.
“He had a little book with him too,” Christopher went on. “It made me think he was a reporter, doing a story on our opening. That’s why I didn’t give him a hard time.”
“He’s not a reporter.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “A food critic maybe?”
“No, definitely not.”
He finished busing the table then stopped mid-stride. “Should I toss him out next time? I could, you know.”
“No, that’s not—”
